A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret suffering, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music.
(Soren Kierkegaard)

Sunday, February 25, 2007

The Fear

Is it ever safeto let gogive it all away(if I have anything left)Now, I want toyearn to stop holding backand receive you in returnAm I ready?Do you want me?will you cherishprotectloveThen the fearriseslike the bile in the backof my throatbitterburningup from the gutdeepseatedand it hoversno pill can banish itno one elsewould knowthey can't see iton my faceor in my demeanoror general deportment"She looks happy"but she's been riskinggamblingon a narrow marginshe fears bankruptcyinsolvencyI can only prayyou are myinterest bearing accountprincipal protectedproducing dividendsto nourish usboth